


My Brother's Keep(er)

by patientalien, whatdidyouexpect (youdbetterbeready)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Don't Forget Your Time Heist Snacks, I Went on the Time Heist 2019 and All I Got Was This Lousy Infinity Stone, Loki Lives (Kind Of), Loki's Room (Keep Out Thor!), M/M, Speak Speak Loki Laufeyson!, The Tales of Asgard Trilogy, Thor Has a Drinking Solution, Tony Stark Has a Heart (and Makes Eggs For His Friends When They're Sad), Viva La Crocs, suicide (kind of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21547900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patientalien/pseuds/patientalien, https://archiveofourown.org/users/youdbetterbeready/pseuds/whatdidyouexpect
Summary: During the Time Heist, Thor doesn't intend to make his way to Loki's old bedroom, but it happens anyway.
Relationships: Loki & Thor (Marvel), Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 66





	My Brother's Keep(er)

**Author's Note:**

> Loki's housekeeping sprites are the brainchild of Keith R.A. DeCandido, the author of the (officially licensed; go search Amazon/eBay for it, I'll wait) YA book, Thor: The Tales of Asgard Trilogy. Enclosed is their canon debut (Thor: Dueling with Giants, pg. 37-40), set in the age of Loki's adolescence where a spate of mischief nearly gets Thor killed, and Odin grounds his ass for a month for it (and then hilarity ensues):
> 
> [H]e was appalled to see that the pantry had gone to seed. Leftover foodstuffs from the first day of his house arrest had not yet been disposed of, dishes and cutlery had not yet been cleaned and put away, and flies buzzed about, one flying right in Loki's face.
> 
> Swatting away the insect, Loki immediately summoned the sprites who were tasked with the keeping of his keep.
> 
> Three tiny, winged, green-skinned creatures appeared before him, flitting about the pantry alongside the flies.
> 
> "Speak, speak, Loki Laufeyson!"
> 
> "Tell us how we may service the trickster god!"
> 
> "The god of mischief commands us!"
> 
> "Yes," said Loki impatiently, "I do. And have. Your job is to keep my home neat and clean, yet look at this place!"
> 
> The sprites flew around the pantry, noses wrinkled, and then all alighted before him side by side.
> 
> "We do as we are bid!"
> 
> "Clean the pantry we shall!" 
> 
> "As soon as you next depart!"
> 
> Loki winced. He rarely was in his keep for more than a few days at a time, as there was always some new scheme to conceive, some campaign of mischief to enact. Therefore, the sprites had been under strict instruction to do their domestic chores only when Loki himself did not have to witness it. Under normal circumstances, Loki's comings and goings provided ample opportunity for the sprites to heed his directive.
> 
> But Odin's house arrest had changed things, and he needed to adjust his commands to the sprites accordingly. 
> 
> Striding to the burlap sack containing this month's supply of [Idunn's] apples, Loki said, "I have been forced to remain in the keep for the time being, so for now, you may perform your duties regardless of whether or not I am present."
> 
> The sprites all exchanged nervous glances with each other.
> 
> "If that is what the trickster desires ..."
> 
> "If truly Loki is sure ..."
> 
> "We will, of course, do as the second son of Odin demands ..."
> 
> Loki shook his head as he pulled one of the golden apples from the sack. "Yes. Yes, you will. And do it quickly!" He took a huge bite out of the apple to emphasize his point, swatted another fly that flew in front of his face, and left the pantry in a huff. [...]
> 
> Once he consumed all but the core of the apple, he tossed it aside, hoping as he did so that the sprites would know to clean it up even though he remained. They might well have only followed his instruction with regard to the pantry and let the rest of the keep go to pot.
> 
> And then another fly came in and settled on his nose.
> 
> He swatted the fly, and then sighed, wondering if he should go back to the pantry and instruct the sprites to specifically get rid of the flies.
> 
> Then he wondered if he could cast a spell that would send all the flies to wherever Odin was disguised and riding Sleipnir.
> 
> And then, suddenly, it came to him.

He hadn't intended to end up in Loki's old bedroom. In spite of everything, deep in his soul, Thor knew the stakes of this mission, knew what would happen if they failed. It helped keep things in perspective; bonus, when he focused on it, he could almost pretend his life wasn't in shambles and that his entire existance wasn't a total joke. Almost.

In any case, muscle memory is simultaneously a blessing and a curse, and without even realizing he's doing it, he's creeping along an all-too-familiar corridor, his legs striding purposefully towards their pre-determined - nay, pre-destined - destination. Vaguely, he thinks of trying to find Rocket, but not strongly enough to stay him from his current course. Thor's somewhat atrophied leg muscles protest a little, but the sudden pounding of his heart keeps his blood circulating quickly enough to keep up with the sudden bout of fitness, and then he's just there, in front of Loki's chamber doors. A gloved hand shakes as he presses it against the dark-stained wood, and he lets out an even shakier breath when the enchantment in said wood, long dormant, nonetheless recognizes Thor's mystical signature, and swings inward, proffering him entrance. 

(When they were younger, Loki had spelled the same entrance to keep Thor out of his private rooms; and then, as time and the pressures of being Sons of Asgard had caused them to cling to one another more and more, in ways forbidden and otherwise, the enchantment had been altered, making Thor perhaps the only other being allowed into Loki's keep. Even after they'd been almost forcibly pulled apart by love and hate and jealousy and longing in the times following, Loki's bedroom chambers remained bespelled to allow his brother, and likely still only his brother entrance.)

Thor's immediate reaction to seeing how immaculate the surroundings are when the doors open is that the sight and even slight scent is overwhelmingly familiar. His second thought is that someone had been coming here in Loki's imprisoned wake and tidying things. This thought makes him angry, and then just as quickly, worn out; crossing the room on suddenly leaden legs, Thor plops down in an oversized, green armchair that he'd often found Loki lying across, legs tossed over an armrest, curled around some dusty tome. This memory makes him sad - this whole thing is making him really fucking sad, in complete honesty - and once more, his 'lizard brain,' as Banner had once called it, works of its own accord. Reaching into the pocket of his cape-cum-makeshift robe, courtesy of Tony Stark's surprising domestic skills (he also cooks pretty good eggs, as it turns out), Thor tugs out a bottle of Tropicalia, twists off the cap with well-practiced fingers, and takes a swig. "Good idea," he tells himself. He stares blearily at the label, and then, without fanfare, begins pouring some of the amber liquid onto the ground. "Pouring one out for my," he hiccups, "for Loki," and that's when he realizes that he's not alone in here.

"Oh!" The voice is small and high, and Thor thinks he can hear the fluttering of tiny wings now. He's drunk, but certainly not drunk enough to be hallucinating - not yet, if he can get down to the wine cellar before they have to leave then maybe, but ... He stops himself, his rambling mind screeching to a halt as memory takes over. Of course, he finally realizes: The sprites. 

Both Thor and Loki were raised as princes, which meant they were used to being waited on and tended to. Thor has, over the years since his reluctant ascension to the throne, gotten somewhat used to doing things for himself - though he's sure Valkyrie might have other things to say about that - but Loki always took things one step further. Whereas Thor's room servants were members of the normal serving staff, Loki preferred to keep his privacy, for reasons yet obvious and mysterious by their very nature to Thor; thus, the youngest Prince of Asgard had conjured a trio of tiny, mystical sprites to tend to his chambers in his absence. 

Thor wonders how he could have forgotten. "Hello," he greets the one who first noticed him with a brief wave before going back to his beer (drinking it this time, even). 

"Oh dear! Oh, my!" the sprite cries, flitting around the puddle of beer on the floor. 

Thor eyes it blearily. "What?" he asks. 

"These are the chambers of the second prince of Asgard!" the sprite bemoans. "He will be very cross!" As if on cue, the other two diminutive creatures flit over to where the small commotion is, basically interchangeable in appearance as far as Thor can tell. Another thing he had forgotten and now remembers again about Loki's housekeeping sprites: They like to speak in triplicate.

"Master Loki has charged us to look after his chambers! We must do as the second prince of Asgard commands!"

"The second prince wishes his keep to remain clean in times of his absence and occupation!"

"So you guys just say the same thing in a slightly different way three different times, yeah?" Thor asks. "Hey," he says suddenly, snapping his fingers a little (unnecessarily, as he has all three sprites' undivided and aghast attention, to be certain), "can like two of you go get that footstool for me across the room? Thanks."

"Um." The first sprite peeps tentatively.

Thor waves a hand dismissively. If he's going to have to listen to these little creatures complain, he's damn well going to get comfortable first. He watches as two of the sprites reluctantly flit over to the footstool and pick it up with strength that belies their size. He's pretty sure they're grumbling under their breath at him as they set it down in front of his chair. Thor swings his feet onto it, much to the absolute horror of the sprites. "What?" he asks again, somewhat annoyed.

"What - are those?" the one that seems to be the leader gasps, pointing at Thor's feet.

Thor peers over his belly at his filthy, worn Crocs, crusted in dirt (he hopes it's dirt) and other guck from New Asgard. "You've never seen Crocs before?" he asks, though he supposes there is no reason to think otherwise. 

"Oh, the second prince of Asgard will be most upset," the sprite moans, wringing its hands.

"They're not that bad," Thor argues idly, though to be fair, Loki would probably hate them, or at least pretend to hate them while secretly owning a pair.

"Prince Loki will be very cross," the second sprite intones, gesticulating at the dirt that has flaked off Thor's shoes onto the footstool and floor. 

"The second prince of Asgard -"

"Well, I'm the first prince of Asgard, so I outrank him," Thor snaps, draining his beer and tossing it to the floor, where the bottle shatters. "And Loki still has the door set to let me in, and I think he outranks you guys, so why don't you all go get a dustpan that the three of you have to carry together to clean all this up" - he gestures to the nearby mess that he has made - "and leave me be."

All three sprites are buzzing around in front of him now, clearly as agitated as he is quickly becoming. "The second p-prince-" one of them manages to get out, but Thor lets out a guttural roar in response, and it quiets down.

Thor digs around anew in his robe pocket, and then unscrews the top off of a second bottle of beer. Taking a long drink, he punctuates his outburst with a belch, and the trio of sprites frowns almost simultaneously as the aftermath hits their collective senses. "One of you guys could use this as a little hat." Thor fumbles with the bottle cap, but the sprite he reaches towards ducks out of the way of his clumsy and probably filthy hand, and he shrugs and lets the cap fall. It lands in the middle of the original beer bottle mess with a wet 'clink.' "Look, I'm the King in my timeline," he tells the creatures as they glower at him. "And my Loki's dead anyway, the whole fucking planet is gone, so it's not like any of this matters. I command you to obey me," he intones tersely now. "Clean that up, now. Uh, and you know," he adds, before settling back in the armchair, "thanks for your service, or whatever."

The sprites gape at him for a long moment; then, in their usual unison, they begin to clean up Thor's mess. The beer bottle shards are light enough for one sprite to pick up by itself. "The second prince of Asgard is dead?" one of them ventures.

Thor, eyes closed, matted hair scattered across the top of the armchair, head thrown back, grunts in affirmation. "I mean, there's another one in the dungeons below us right now, but he's basically dead as far as you guys are concerned, right?" Thor cracks one eye open. "Does he ever give you the weekend off?" he asks, tongue thick and lazy as it forms the words. "D'you guys clean your own house and do laundry and whatnot? Is your washing machine like, a leaf with rainwater in it?"

The sprites do not answer his ramblings, focused as they are on the arduous task of cleaning up his broken beer bottle and its innards. That's fine by Thor, honestly, because all of this reminiscing and drinking is making him sad and tired, and he isn't really in the mood to entertain Loki's magical servants anyway. He glances down at the trio, and notices one of them turning a small shard of the glass bottle over in its hands. 

"Whatcha doin' there?" Thor asks, muffling a belch with his forearm, albeit poorly. "Come on, pick up the pace. I thought you guys were magic or whatever." It really feels like they should be done by now. He brushes a hand through his beard and decides it's not worth reacting to the small flurry of crumbs that fall to the floor atop the rest of the mess. 

"Oh! Oh, no!" the sprite moans in apparent disagreement. "Prince Loki will hear of this!"

"I told you, he's dead. Everybody is dead. You guys probably blew up when Surtur destroyed Asgard. Sorry. Had to be done. Loki thought so, too, and then he died. Everyone died except me. And now I'm here, with you guys. Time travel!" He punctuates the proclamation with a fist bump and yet another burp. "Weird, huh?" he asks the sprites. "My life is so God-damned weird."

In response, the sprite still holding the shard of glass slowly lifts it higher. "What are you - oh, my God!" Thor exclaims, his reflexes far too dull to stop the sprite from neatly impaling itself through the chest. Unfortunately, he also does not have the wherewithal to keep it from dropping onto its side into the puddle of beer, where it now lays, gasping weakly. "The second ... prince of ... A-Asgard will ... hear of ..." Alas, the sprite dies from its wounds before it can finish promising to tattle on Thor.

Thor blinks a few times, taking in this latest development with what has become a characteristic silence. Finally, he fumbles out one of the mini vodka bottles he'd smuggled out of Stark's bar, pre-Time Heist. Twisting it open, he pours a little onto the now-dead sprite before knocking back the rest himself. "Rough, man," he grunts and settles back in the chair. "C'you two handle your magical dustpan by yourselves?" he asks, and they quickly nod in unison.

* 

It could be several minutes or hours later when Thor is rudely interrupted from his latest nap; first, by a soft, high wailing noise, and then by a much louder proclamation: "Thor, what the fuck?"

Thor snorts himself awake, wiping largely ineffectively at the strand of drool making its way from his mouth to his beard before turning his attention to the intruder. Standing before him, a sputtering, squeaking sprite resting on his outstretched palm, is Loki.

Not the Loki currently languishing in the dungeon, Thor recognizes immediately, hazily drinking in details like the other man's clothing, and the fact that the sobbing, suicidal sprite that Loki is reluctantly allowing to burble in his hand is no longer impaled on a piece of beer bottle glass, though the bloodstain surrounding his wound remains. Alas, the realization that this is his Loki comes with a strange kind of blankness. In the past, any sign of his brother's liveliness would have been met with a surge of joy, but that was several bad choices and barrels of alcohol ago. "What the fuck yourself," he finally replies, rubbing his flesh eye with the pad of his thumb. When Loki yet remains in front of him, corporeal and annoyed, Thor subconsciously straightens up in his seat, even wipes his mouth absently with the back of his hand.

"I was minding my own business, and all of a sudden I'm hearing that my ridiculous oaf of a brother is - is - what are you doing?" 

Thor looks up from unwrapping a Twix bar. "Having a snack, what does it look like?" 

"It looks like you've gone completely mad," Loki retorts. The sprite in his hand whimpers, and Loki tuts at it. "Shush." Then, to Thor: "Is this what you've been doing since I've been gone? Wallowing in self pity and eating disgusting mortal junk food?"

"It's actually not bad, there's a crunchy bit and some chewy stuff inside," Thor muses, and then gapes when the candy bar is slapped from his hand. "Hey!"

"'Hey,' yourself." To add insult to injury, the other sprites, now flitting around their fallen brethren, immediately pick up the Twix and carry it to a nearby refuse bin. "Look, I'm not supposed to be here yet," Loki proffers, and to his credit, he seems genuinely apologetic. "It's not my 'time to shine' yet, that's what Strange said." At this, Loki rolls his eyes. "What does he know anyway, that two-bit children's birthday party magician with an Infinity Stone he doesn't know what to do with."

"Yeah, he's a total dick," Thor agrees around yet another mouthful of Twix, having located a second bar in the pockets of his cape-robe.

Loki just sighs. "So I can't stay," he continues. "But I wanted to let you know, what I said before, about-"

The sudden noise from the vicinity of the still open doorway startles them both. "You'd better start explaining yourself now, Rabbit." Thor, circa 2013 is all lanky angles and ennui. "Mother says she feels a lot of weird magic suddenly, and then you show up, and-" He stops talking when he spots the various occupants of Loki's keep, including a particularly ballsy housekeeping sprite, currently attempting to liberate the Thor sitting in Loki's favorite chair from his latest chocolate bar. "What the fuck?" his slimmer counterpart asks.

From his own vantage point, stuck under past Thor's arm in a headlock, Rocket just sighs. "Shoulda gone with Nebula," he grumbles to himself.


End file.
